


24 Days of Christmas: Cillian Trevelyan/Dorian Pavus

by SOMNlARl



Series: i am the heart that you call home [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Caretaking, Christmas Fluff, Cillian's parents are horrible pieces of shit, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fireplaces, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental neglect/emotional abuse, Rimming, Self-Hatred, Sick Character, Sickfic, Snowball Fight, parental abandonment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5343692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little Christmas present for everyone on tumblr for being so lovely and encouraging as I've worked to develop Cillian's characterization. There are 24 days until Christmas, 24 prompts (and possibly a bonus 25th and MAYBE a 26th) all featuring Dorian Pavus and my inquisitor, Cillian Trevelyan in a modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1: Winter Expectations vs. Winter Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone on tumblr has been so nice and encouraging about all of my Cillian headcanons lately so this is my little holiday present to all of you. I appreciate you all so much, you make writing worthwhile. 
> 
> tumblr: xhermionedanger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's feeling a little bit disenchanted about winter. Cillian knows just how to help.
> 
> Rating: Teen for alcohol and cuddling.

 

“Is it always so… _ugh_!” Dorian set his book down with surprising force and cut off with a sigh, staring forlornly out the glass balcony doors from his perch on the couch.  

“Hmmm?” Cillian asked distractedly, still staring intently at his laptop screen. “Is what always so… what?”

“Oh, nothing. Go back to work.” Dorian sighed again, louder and more plaintive this time and it was enough to jerk Cillian out of his concentration entirely. When Dorian wanted attention he wanted it _now_ and that sigh coupled with the set of his shoulders and miserable look on his face made it clear that he was not going to be able to get any more work done this afternoon. 

Glasses up on his forehead and papers pushed to the side he stretched lightly and wandered over to stand next to Dorian. It was strangely still outside, barely a car on the street despite it being nearly rush hour. He supposed most people had decided to get ahead of the impending storm and started home hours ago just as Dorian had.  

“You know, we wouldn’t have to play this guessing game if you’d just use full sentences when you’re annoyed, ducky,” he teased. Dorian frowned and he stifled a laugh with a cough, tucking an arm around Dorian’s shoulder as he pulled him closer, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “It is always so… what?”

He felt Dorian relax, his shoulders loosening as he leaned against his chest. 

“It’s just so… ugly!” Dorian motioned towards the window and Cillian stared outside, confused. 

“Ugly?” It was the familiar grey-on-white-on-grey he’d always come to associate with winter; the shiny slick of ice on dark concrete, piles of snow pushing out of the street and up onto the sidewalk, the sky blending into the buildings, only light from the windows demarcating one from the other. It was hypnotic, he thought, comforting. The streets below them were blanketed in a cloud of softly marbled grey and white, muffling the noise from outside. 

“I hate this! When do we get the nice part of winter?” Dorian complained as he buried his face in Cillian’s chest. Cillian stroked his hair. 

“What do you mean, Dori?”

“The soft, white, fluffy snow that falls at night! You wake up in the morning and boom! It’s all there and it’s pretty but it’s over until the next night. Here’s it’s been doing this… thing… Where’s it’s half rain, half snow and all wind that makes my ears ache for days now and it’s revolting! It ruined my boots!” 

“Sleeting,” Cillian added helpfully. “It’s called sleeting. And we’ll get you another pair but I did tell you to waterproof them.”

“I don’t care what it’s called! _Sleeting_. It’s awful. Snow is supposed to fall at night under a bright, clear moon and you wake up to it and it’s soft and everything’s quiet and beautiful,” Dorian hissed, glaring out the window again. 

“It snows, it stops and everyone goes about their business. Everyone’s pleasant and nice because the snow is beautiful and you get home and it's warm and there’s hot cocoa and cuddling by the fireplace and  soft music in the background, not just the wind screaming,” Dorian’s hand reached up to absent-mindedly pet Felicitas’s head as he ranted, his scowl softening with every scritch behind the kitten’s ears. 

Cillian laughed, not bothering to stifle this time as he trailed a hand down Dorian’s jaw, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Sounds like you’ve watched too many Christmas movies, love.”

Dorian sighed wistfully as he leaned into the kiss, returning it with equal fervor before he replied carefully, a hopeful note in his words. “They do make everything look rather lovely, Amatus.”

Cillian teased a hand through Dorian’s, leading him back through the living room and onto the oversized pillows lying beside the fireplace. 

“Stay here, love. I can’t do anything about the sleet or the wind but everything else?” He pulled the afghan from the basket near the hearth and pulled it over Dorian who immediately curled up under it, pulling the soft fibers up over his shoulder as he closed his eyes and smiled. “Everything else I think I can fix.” 

He came back with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa and Christmas carols on his phone playing softly in the background. Dorian's face was tucked into the pillow, eyes shut and cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire. He sat down on the edge of the pillows gingerly, wincing as Dorian turned and opened his eyes, smiling sleepily up at him. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, handing over a mug in apology. 

Dorian took a sip, his eyes widening as the very healthy shot of Irish cream hit the back of his throat. He sighed happily and patted the cushion next to him. 

“Well, Amatus? There’s only one thing missing that might make winter bearable.”

Cillian found himself laughing as he curled up behind Dorian, tucking the smaller man into his chest and brushing his lips against the nape of his neck. 

“Better, ducky?”

Dorian hummed happily, eyes flickering shut. “Much better, kitten.”


	2. We need to buy you winter clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian needs an actual coat. Dorian _hates_ Cillian's coat even though he's constantly wearing it. And a shopping trip leads to unexpected confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: xhermionedanger

Cillian considered himself a caring, generous person. He really did. Rescuer of abandoned and lost animals, healer of adorable, furry woodland creatures, and, apparently, space heater _and_ winter closet for his cold-blooded boyfriend. The space heater part he didn’t mind; winter had served to make Dorian more prone to random cuddles and affection than usual ( _only because you’re warm_ , Dorian insisted) and Cillian was definitely _not_ about to complain about that. And really, he didn’t actually mind that Dorian “borrowed” his sweaters. And hoodies. And sweatpants. And anything warm he could find. What he _did_ mind were the furtive, hinting glances in his direction as Dorian shivered dramatically and rubbed at his arms, trying to generate some warmth under the black leather motorcycle jacket he insisted on wearing even though it had been too thin two months ago. 

“You know, we really need to get you an actual coat before you freeze to death. That jacket just isn’t cutting it.” 

Dorian shook his head, smirking even as his teeth chattered. “And yet I look fabulous in it, you can’t deny it.” 

“I’m not denying it, I’m just saying that blue lips and frostbite aren’t really your best look.” 

Dorian snorted. “Everything’s my best look. Besides, it’s not _that_ cold.”

“Babe… you’re not going to be any warmer if you just pretend winter isn’t happening,” he replied as he shrugged his coat off and adjusted it around Dorian’s shoulders, smiling as the man gave a small, contented sigh. “It’s freezing, _you’re_ freezing and now I’m going to freeze because you’re freezing. One of these days I would really like to be able to wear my own coat again in peace. So let’s just go to the mall and find you your own. ”

“Fine, fine,” Dorian acquiesced. “But I can’t fathom _why_ you’re so attached to this ratty old thing. It looks like you’ve had it since college. You should be _grateful_ that I’m willing to bear the burden of this fashion disaster for you on occasion.”

Cillian blinked. “I… have had it since college? What? It’s my favorite! It… I don’t know, it means a lot to me I guess.” 

“ _Kaffas_! Really, Amatus? I was joking! Who still has clothes from college, honestly?” Dorian widened his eyes in mock horror. “I think we have two coat emergencies and yours is much more dire than mine. Let’s go right now.”

*** 

The mall was packed with other shoppers and twice they were separated by the crowds before they made it to the upscale department store at the other end of the mall, the only one Dorian would agree to go into. Dorian decided on one surprisingly quickly; a knee-length, slim black wool coat with a high funnel neck that skimmed easily over the lines of his body, highlighting slim hips and a narrow waist. As Dorian wandered off Cillian sighed and turned to the racks, eventually settling on a grey wool hooded duffel coat. It was nice, he had to admit and he did like it. It just wasn’t going to be the same. 

When Dorian returned his arms were full of sweaters, gloves and scarves. He brushed his lips softly across Cillian’s cheek and slipped a hand through his as they walked over to the registers and paid. 

It was dark when they got home having stopped at a cafe for coffee before leaving the mall. Cillian hung his jacket on the coat rack and turned to take the bags into their bedroom. 

Dorian lifted his jacket off the hook and brushed off the snow that had collected on the collar, examining it with a quick eye, inspecting the lining and seams. “I suppose it’s not actually in bad shape, Amatus. Now that you have a new one we could donate this. Someone could get some use out of it.” 

“No!” Cillian said too loudly as he turned and grabbed it back, regretting it immediately as Dorian’s face fell. 

“Sorry, ducky. I just…” He blew out a sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck, letting the coat fall to the floor.

“Marcus gave it to me,” he admitted. “My sophomore year. Things had been pretty… rough between me and my parents for a while… years, I guess. I’d moved out back in high school, just packed whatever I could and left. Until I got to college I couch-surfed with friends and I did have a job but all my money went towards food or keeping my car sort of running. And it was before my aunt… well, you know. So I was always broke and a lot of what I had was from when I was… fifteen maybe? Including my coat.”

“Oh, kitten…” Dorian murmured, taking his hands and leading him over to the couch. He curled up in the corner, back up against the arm and patted the cushion next to him as Cillian lay down and stretched out, long legs dangling over the other arm. “You must have been quite the sight. What was it by then, three inches too short in the sleeves?”

Cillian laughed, smiling as Dorian ran his fingers softly through his hair. “Try five or six. I was pretty short then if you can believe it. Didn’t really get my first big growth spurt until I was seventeen.” 

“I _don’t_ believe it,” Dorian replied drily as he looked down at his boyfriend’s tall, lanky frame currently sprawled out across his legs. 

“Anyway, it didn’t really matter that much. The Marches are warmer and everything’s pretty close together on campus so you don’t really need more than a sweatshirt, maybe a scarf. But Marcus’s parents invited me to come down to Denerim over Christmas break that year so I didn’t have to stay on campus so I had to wear it because Denerim’s always bloody freezing.”

“Sounds dreadful,” Dorian sniffed dismissively. “Lets not ever go there, hmmm?”

Cillian shrugged. “It’s not so bad. But I guess Marcus must have noticed how badly it fit. He didn’t say anything but the first morning we were there he let me sleep in and left. By the time I woke up he was back and that jacket was sitting on the edge of my bed.”

“He never admitted he bought it. And maybe it was his mom but…” Cillian smiled sadly. “It was the first thing anyone had given me in years.”

Dorian felt his heart clench in his chest as Cillian looked up at him. Dorian kissed him on the forehead and smiled. The man didn’t talk about his family often and spoke of Marcus even less and suddenly Dorian understood why. To have been rejected and to have to fend for himself, to find the closeness he’d craved and then to lose it again… 

“Well, that’s that then. Can’t donate something with that many memories attached to it,” Dorian said brightly past the rising knot in his throat. “Bad luck for anyone but the original recipient. I suppose you’re stuck with that old rag forever.”

Cillian sighed happily as Dorian stroked his fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his skin. They stayed like this in silence for a few minutes, the crackle and warmth of the fireplace and the slow, rhythmic pounding of Dorian’s heartbeat relaxing him further. 

“Dori?” He whispered, smiling at the answering, sleepy hum. “I… thanks.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. 

“Hush, kitten. There’s been far too much sentiment for one night already. Now I’m going to find us some _Chopped_ to watch until dinner,” Dorian replied as he reached for the remote, flipping through the channels until he found what he was looking for. 

Cillian turned onto his side, sliding an arm under Dorian’s waist and the man settled, leaning down for a long, deep kiss that left them both breathless. 

“And you’re welcome, _Amatus_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for publishing this one late! I got incredibly tired all of a sudden last night and didn't want to finish it up like that in case I ended up with a garbled mess. Day 3 will be posted tonight or this afternoon if I get a real flash of inspiration. 
> 
> Notes:  
> \- In this Cillian 'verse Marcus isn't dead but he had to leave for a teaching position and Cillian couldn't go with him. They couldn't manage a long-distance relationship and broke up over it.  
> \- Cillian's parents made his life so miserable after he came out that he ended up leaving home. One of his aunts who always hated his father (her brother) started a trust for him after he left home to spite his parents which he only found out about after he graduated. And left him her old apartment in the middle of the city when she moved to a smaller one. So he's actually pretty well off but is also incredibly uncomfortable about it. 
> 
> In case you're wondering, the inspiration for their coats are these two: 
> 
>  
> 
> [Dorian’s coat](http://www.lyst.com/clothing/oak-funnel-neck-coat-black-1/?product_gallery=22961750)  
> [Cillian’s coat (except grey)](http://www.lyst.com/clothing/saint-laurent-wool-felt-hooded-duffle-coat-camel/)


	3. Treatment for the flu/a cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian doesn't like needles and skips his flu shot, with expected results. Cillian is a surprisingly good caretaker _and_ manages not to say "I told you so".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: xhermionedanger

Cillian stirred, left with the sense that he’d been wrenched suddenly out of a very nice dream by the bed shaking. He cracked an eye open, expecting to see Carrick standing on the bed having just shaken himself off before a stretch but the dog was stretched out at the end of the bed fast asleep, paws twitching. Dorian was curled up beside him, tangled in blankets and his usually immaculate hair sleep-mussed. Cillian always loved watching his boyfriend wake up; there was a vulnerability there, a sense of easy, quiet intimacy in these moments between sleep and awake that Dorian repressed otherwise, burying them deep beneath his front of self-assured brilliance. 

“Morning love,” he murmured into Dorian’s neck, pressing a kiss across his nape. 

“Mmmmff…” Dorian replied, his voice rough and sleep-thick, as he rolled over with a groan, burrowing deeper under the comforter. “S’cold, think the heat’s off.” 

Not yet awake enough to fully register how warm it actually was in the room Cillian started to get up to turn the heat back on when he felt the same shaking of the mattress and turned back to find Dorian smothering a cough into his pillow, panting at the end. He quickly leaned over to press the back of his hand across the man’s forehead before Dorian could pull away, hissing at the heat radiating off his skin.  

“Oh my god, babe... you’re burning up!” Cillian frowned, squinting as he examined Dorian critically. His normally rich-bronze skin was ashen but flushed, bloodshot eyes contrasting starkly against cool grey pupils and the dark circles under his eyes, lips pale and chapped, stripped of any hints of warmth. “Sit up for me?”

“I’m fine, it’s just a bit of a tickle. Do stop fussing, Amatus,” Dorian grumbled as he dragged himself up, wincing as clearly aching muscles and joints protested, collapsing back against the headboard. Cillian brushed a fallen wave of sweat-damp hair out of his face and ran his hands gently down Dorian’s face to his neck. Dorian whimpered as his fingers lingered over painfully swollen glands, tilting his head up as he cleared his throat. 

“Mmm, well I’d say all available evidence suggests that you’re _not fine_ but it’s probably just flu, you’ll be alright ducky…” Cillian soothed then stopped, confused. “Wait, but you got your flu shot!” 

Dorian flushed darker, a guilty look flickering across fever-bright eyes before he lay back down, turning his face away from Cillian’s gaze. 

“Dorian… you told me you got it. I made your appointment. Tell me you actually got it.”

“Don’t like needles,” Dorian mumbled into the pillow as he shook his head. “Didn’t want you to be mad.”

“Dori… you didn’t… oh my _god_. You don’t like needles… Seriously, do you like _this_? Because if you feel anywhere near as awful as you look I’m going to guess you would have preferred the shot.” 

“I’m _not_ sick.” Dorian glared at him - the look’s normal effect lessened by bleary, half-focused eyes - then turned his head into Cillian’s leg with a groan that cut off in a coughing fit. He winced at the harsh, raw sound and patted his shoulder sympathetically until the spasms ended and Dorian quieted with a soft whine. 

“Right. Got it, definitely not sick.” Cillian sighed and rubbed his temples. He could feel a stress headache coming on but his frustration vanished as Dorian sniffed pitifully and shivered. He ruffled the man’s hair lightly and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders as he stood. “I’m just going to make some tea and get another blanket and stuff, okay? I”ll be right back.”

In the bathroom he managed to unearth half a bottle of flu and cough syrup, just under a month away from its expiration date, probably left over from the last time he’d been sick. He sniffed at it and gagged, it smelled disgusting. Anything that vile had better work quickly he thought to himself, momentarily feeling bad about inflicting it on his boyfriend until he heard another flurry of muffled coughs from the bedroom. 

 

***

 

Dorian drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep, waking at the shrill whistle of the kettle. A few minutes later Cillian returned juggling a mug, a glass of water and a small bottle filled with dark red liquid with a box of tissues under one arm and a blanket draped over his shoulder. He busied himself setting everything down on the side table and unfurled the blanket - warm and fresh from the dryer - over Dorian who groaned and immediately snuggled up under it. He whined as the mattress dipped and the blanket was pulled down over his head, opening his eyes to find Cillian perched on the edge of the bed, holding  a capful of medicine out in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He shook his head and glowered at Cillian, grasping for the water which was held just out of his reach. 

“Come on, little duck,” Cillian smiled patiently. “Just take it, then you can have water to wash the taste down. After you can have some tea and we’ll take a nap, sound good?”

It _did_ sound good. Better than good actually, _glorious._ So wonderful he didn't mind feeling vaguely condescended to so he took the cap reluctantly and drank it quickly, pulling a face at the taste. A few pills were pressed into one hand and the glass of water into the other, he swallowed them and drank greedily, draining the glass only to have it replaced with the mug. It was warm against his hands and he sat for a moment, just breathing in the steam until he realized that it didn’t actually smell like tea at all. 

Dorian sniffed at the mug suspiciously. “What _is_ this?”

“Just tea. And maybe a splash of whiskey, lemon… a little honey,” Cillian replied. “Just drink it, you’ll feel better.”

Dorian took a sip and grimaced, narrowly avoiding spitting the mouthful out. He glared at the blond. “A _splash_ of whiskey?” 

Cillian grinned, shrugging apologetically. “Okay, maybe it’s more like hot whiskey with a splash of tea, lemon and honey but it _works_. Well, it’ll numb your throat and put you to sleep anyway and that probably sounds good, right? Don’t knock it until you give it a chance. Want a bit more tea and honey in it?”

Dorian nodded and Cillian grabbed the tea as he started coughing, just before the liquid sloshed out onto the bed and swept out of the room, returning a minute later with a freshly-steaming mug. 

“No,” he grumbled as Cillian put the mug down and climbed into bed next to him, weakly pushing against the blond’s face to keep him away. “Go away. Don’t want to get you sick too.”

“Oh, so _now_ you’re sick,” Cillian teased as he slipped under the covers. “And no, not going away. One of us actually got our flu shot and doesn’t have to worry about getting sick. Wonder who it was… hmmmmm.”

“I hate you,” Dorian whispered as he sipped at the tea. He would never admit it but it _was_ good, the honey soothed his raw throat and by the time he was nearly finished he could feel himself drifting off, eyelids fluttering. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re all cranky,” Cillian brushed the hair back out of Dorian’s eyes and kissed his forehead, scooting closer until Dorian was tucked into his chest, his breath slowing as he fell asleep.

 

***

 

When Dorian woke the sun was low in the sky, fiery oranges and pinks giving way to the inky blues and blacks of night, snow falling softly and slowly across the windowpane and he was alone. He was alone but he was warm and his head had stopped pounding, giving way to the stiffness of having slept too long coupled with sore, aching muscles from fever. Out in the kitchen he could hear Cillian chopping and moving pots and pans around on the stove, singing softly to himself as he worked. What little he could smell was delightful, spicy and sour mingling with something richer that he couldn’t quite place. 

He padded into the kitchen on unsteady feet, his head swimming from the effort. He leaned up against the threshold and pulled the blanket tighter across his shoulders, pushing the sleeves of Cillian’s sweater up and over his wrists. He coughed and Cillian jumped, letting out a stream of curses and he dropped the knife he’d been using with a clatter. As he turned and saw Dorian a smile spread across his face. 

“You’re alive! It’s a Christmas miracle,” he joked as he crossed the kitchen, pausing to place the back of his hand across Dorian’s brow again. He frowned and Dorian sighed, leaning into the cool touch of his skin. “You’re still really hot…”

“Thanks for noticing,” Dorian replied, smirking even as the words came out hoarse and raked at the back of his throat. 

“Oh, _very_ funny. How’re you feeling?” Cillian asked, head cocked to the side. “You look cute in my sweater by the way.”

“A little better? Maybe?” Dorian shrugged, raising a hand to his forehead as a wave of dizziness overcame him, the other gripping the side of the door as he swayed. "Not... great, I guess."

“There’s more medicine on the table and a glass of water, go take two more of the pills I left out,” Cillian ordered. “And go lie down on the couch, soup’s almost ready. I’ll bring you some.”

"You went out? In this?" Dorian questioned as he wandered over to the window, leaning his face against the glass as he chanced a look outside at the feet of snow that lay on the ground with more piling up every minute.

"Yeah," Cillian called over his shoulder. "Figured you'd sleep for a while and wouldn’t need me. Besides, it wasn't this bad earlier. Now quit stalling and go take your pills."

Dorian pulled a face but obeyed then curled up on the edge of the couch. A tickle teased at the back of his throat until it bloomed into a coughing fit, leaving him doubled over. When he caught his breath and sat up again Cillian had a glass of water pressed into his hand and was staring at him with soft concern. He waved it away, sipping at the water. It was then that he noticed the bowl Cillian was holding and realized what he’d smelled earlier: coconut milk. 

“You made tom kha? Oh my god, I love you.” Dorian reached out for a bowl. Cillian chuckled and handed one over, carefully sitting next to him on the couch, his own bowl abandoned on the coffee table as he squeezed Dorian’s shoulder lightly.  

“Oh fuck…” Dorian sighed happily as he swallowed a mouthful of soup, relishing the tingle of sweet and sour heat on his tongue. “This is _incredible_. You’re magic.”

Cillian grinned and snapped his fingers, a spark of light flashing between them before settling into shimmering frost, lightly rubbing them against Dorian's temples as he sighed happily, the crisp coolness a comforting contrast to his own fever-flushed heat. “Would you look at that? I actually am!”

Dorian rolled his eyes and smacked his shoulder. “Show off, you know I can’t do any magic like this.”

Cillian laughed and grabbed his own bowl and they ate in silence for a few minutes. 

“Umm, kitten?”

Cillian raised an eyebrow at him, his spoon pausing in midair. 

“Speaking of magic could we…” 

Before the words were out Cillian had his hand on the remote and the TV on, the queue up at the _Harry Potter_ movies.

“Of course, babe,” he kissed Dorian’s forehead and nuzzled behind his ear. “Which one do you want? Your usual?”

Dorian nodded and turned back to his soup, smiling as he heard the familiar sound of “ _lumos maxima!”_. Suddenly exhausted he put his near-empty bowl on the table and lay down, moving until his head was resting in Cillian’s lap, his boyfriend’s fingers lightly stroking his hair. He yawned, his eyelids drooping despite his best efforts and Cillian chuckled lightly, adjusting the blanket so he was fully covered and warm, nimble fingers still tracing light circles across his skin. 

“Get some rest, ducky,” Cillian whispered. “We can rewatch it tomorrow.”

 

 

 


	4. Getting the person who doesn’t like Christmas into the right festive mood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cillian suggests a trip to the Christmas market to get them both into the holiday spirit. While there he get some unwelcome news and Dorian teaches him that the family you choose matters more than the one you're born into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting! It really means a lot to me. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: xhermionedanger

Dorian sat at the kitchen table, picking at his toast as he skimmed through the newspaper, finding nothing to catch his interest. What did catch his attention was Cillian puttering around in the kitchen, rinsing dishes and wiping the counters down, his dog-and-bone print flannel pajama pants slipping lower on his hips as he stretched and yawned. It had been too long since they’d spent a quiet morning together like this, more often both of them were rushing around in their haste to get to work, barely pausing for a quick kiss before Dorian ran out the door and Cillian sat down to his laptop. 

“You feeling up to going out today, ducky?” Cillian asked, jerking him out of his thoughts, refilling his coffee cup before padding back over to the kitchen table. 

Dorian snorted but looked up hopefully. “Really? And here I thought I’d be a prisoner in my own home forever. I felt up to leaving the apartment days ago, Amatus.”

He’d been stuck inside for over a week with the flu, Cillian barely allowing him to leave their bed or his nest on the couch while the man hovered and fussed over him. He’d enjoyed it, he had to admit, but only to a point. While he’d relished being cared for and catered to so attentively - he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that for him, he wasn’t actually sure it had ever happened before - over the last week he’d discovered that his boyfriend was an alarmingly protective mother hen. The last two days Dorian had had to stop himself from throwing a book at Cillian every time he had asked if he needed anything else or suggested another nap (it felt like every two seconds!). He was tired of naps, tired of marathoning competitive cooking shows, tired of being watched so closely he might have been a laboratory specimen, tired of soup and tea; he was even tired of reading quietly if that was possible. Most of all he was tired of how the quiet, peaceful warmth of their apartment had become oppressive and craved a bit of fresh air, even if just for an hour or two. 

Cillian had the good grace not to look skeptical even if he did allow a knowing _hmmm_ to pass his lips. Perhaps ‘days ago’ _was_ a bit optimistic. “Well, better safe than sorry love. Anyway, I thought it might be nice to go downtown. They’re lighting the big tree in the square today! And we could go to the Nevarran Christmas market, see how they’ve decorated the buildings, find our tree, get in the Christmas spirit a bit? Then we could come home, put the tree up and make things look a bit more festive around here? Is there anything your family used to do for Christmas that you want to do?”

“We didn’t really celebrate,” Dorian replied lightly, deftly side-stepping the question but Cillian latched on to the thought like a bulldog, refusing to let it go. 

“You must have done something!” He argued, sounding horrified at the thought of anyone not celebrating Christmas. 

Dorian sighed. “Fine. Mother drank more than usual. My father busied himself with business commitments and parties, staying out into the early morning when he bothered coming home at all. When he was home they fought, viciously, and I tried very hard to be neither seen nor heard. The stress of the holidays brought out the worst in them, I suppose. Sometimes the nanny would take me to see the lights, more often she wouldn’t. Christmas dinner was a relief because once it was over we could all stop pretending. There’s nothing there I want to relive, pet.”

Cillian’s face fell. “I’m so sorry, Dori… I didn’t know. I just thought maybe doing something from home would make you happy.”

“I know you didn’t,” he took Cillian’s hand and brushed his lips softly across his knuckles, smiling reassuringly as he stood. “It will make me happy to learn what makes _you_ happy at Christmas, Amatus. And now, I am going to shower and get dressed in something _not_ pajamas before you change your mind and force me back to bed.”

 

***

The market was bustling with life, Dorian wasn’t sure he’d ever been anywhere as vibrant and crowded. Groups of carolers and musicians in elaborate costumes strolled serenely through the aisles between the stalls, singing and accompanying Christmas carols. The stalls were brightly lit, garlanded with greenery and red silk bows and each was piled high with goods. There were hand-carved and glass-blown ornaments, brightly painted nutcrackers, marionettes and figurines, richly scented candles and no end of freshly baked treats. Mothers and their children gathered around the lavishly decorated trees and couples strolled through hand in hand, sharing gingerbread and cinnamon almonds. It was _delightful_ , Dorian had to admit. He bought them both hot mulled wine and when he lingered over a table of ornaments Cillian had only smiled indulgently and squeezed his hand until he  decided on a carved, hand-painted wooden duck and a dog that looked rather a lot like Carrick. As Cillian paid the shopkeeper pressed a sprig of mistletoe into Dorian’s hand, smiling as he closed Dorian’s fingers gently around it. They bought dark, spicy gingerbread and stollen, roasted chestnuts and spiced almonds, bottles of locally produced wine and mulling spices, elaborately shaped chocolates and apple doughnuts dusted in sugar, getting so distracted they barely arrived at the square in time for the tree ceremony, running hand in hand and reaching the end of the gathered crowd just as the lights flickered on to the audience’s vocal delight. 

As the crowd started to disperse Cillian pulled his hand free to check his phone, frowning down at the screen. 

“Everything alright, Amatus?” Dorian murmured, concerned. He tried to chance a look at the screen but Cillian shoved his phone back in the pocket of his jeans and squeezed his eyes shut. Dorian tugged at his fingers, slowly unclenching them and tangling them with his own. As he stretched up, on his toes, to press a kiss against Cillian’s jaw he opened his eyes and set his face back in a forced smile. 

“Fine, love. Everything’s fine,” Cillian replied, unconvincingly, his smile deepening everywhere except his eyes. “I promise, it’s fine. Just… let’s go home. I’m a bit tired, we can get the tree another day.”

 

***

 

“You know, I loved Christmas when I was a kid. I really, really did,” Cillian said as they walked into the apartment, pausing to set the bags with their purchases down on the dining room table as he kicked off his boots, arranging them neatly against the wall. 

“Past tense, Amatus?” Dorian asked as he hung his coat on the stand and reached out for Cillian’s. “It seemed you liked it well enough this morning.”

“You know, when I was a kid? My mother took us to the market every year. When I was little and there weren’t as many of us we each got our own special trip out with her, to pick an ornament and buy presents and look at all the trees. Eventually we started pairing up, I always went with Aoife. We rotated who got to go on tree lighting day, that year was always the best year. I loved it, looked forward to it _all year_. And I thought… well, it doesn’t really matter what I thought.”

Cillian flopped down on the couch, defeated. Dorian sat next to him and squeezed his shoulder gently. “I guess I thought if I just tried it again, tried it with you that it might feel the way it used to? It might make me that happy and excited again? And it _didn’t_. Not even a little. I just… I don’t know what to do to make it feel like Christmas. For you or for me. I can’t fix it, nothing works.” 

“I just thought… maybe trying to do what my… family used to do when I was a kid would work… but it’s just… It’s hollow now. Empty. None of it ever meant a fucking thing.” he stood abruptly, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes and turned to leave. “I’m going to bed.”

“Kitten, wait…” Dorian called after him, standing to stop him but the man was out of reach before he could raise a hand. “Cilli, it’s only 5:30!”

“Don’t care,” came the muffled, choked reply followed by their bedroom door slamming shut. Dorian sighed and sat down again, not sure whether to follow or leave the man alone with his thoughts for a time. If he went in too soon, not leaving him enough time to master himself, Cillian would only get more frustrated and upset. Too late and he’d shut down, leaving an uneasy silence between them over the next few days. He’d had eight months of living with the man and he still found it a difficult balancing act, like walking a tightrope and he fell more often than he reached the end safely. 

He’d give it half an hour, he thought as he picked up his book with a sigh. He doubted he’d be able to concentrate on it at all and he was right, the words blurred into one another as he sat and thought, wondering what had gone wrong. He’d had a wonderful time and he thought he’d been open in his delight. He wasn’t sure he’d felt _the Christmas spirit_ , whatever that was but he’d felt more celebratory, _lighter_ , than he had in years. And he had thought the feeling was mutual, at least until the end. 

 

***

 

When he wandered into their bedroom he found Cillian not in bed but on the window seat, knees pulled tight into his chest, staring out the window at the falling snow, each fat fluffy flake highlighted by the full moon.

“You alright, pet?” Dorian asked as he sat gingerly on the edge of the cushion, swinging his legs around to maneuver himself to sit behind Cillian with his head tucked into the dip of his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Instead of relaxing into the touch Cillian tensed, his back ramrod-straight and shoulders tight, as though he expected a blow. 

As Dorian nosed at his neck Cillian slumped resignedly and shrugged, not turning his gaze away from the window. “Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it, love? Or just sit here and be quiet?” One thing he had learned about Cillian since they’d moved in together was that the answer to that question was usually no. Words were seldom _enough_ , not every problem had an easy solution and trying to provide either often hurt more than it helped. So he was surprised when Cillian nodded in agreement and turned his gaze away from the window. 

“I… heard from my mother today,” Cillian mumbled, dropping his head to his knees. 

“Oh?” Dorian asked carefully. Cillian’s family was always a tricky subject, one he preferred to avoid if he could. “I didn’t realize you were in contact.”

Cillian huffed out a bitter laugh. “We’re _not_. At least, not anymore. I learned my lesson this time. I texted her a few days ago, suggested that maybe you and I could swing by the house for an hour or so on Christmas, not too long, when all my brothers and sisters and the kids would be there, drop off presents and say hello. Aislis’s twins are finally old enough to really _get_ Christmas and Darragh has a new son. She’s never met you, _hell_ half of the rest of them haven’t met you and with it being the holidays I thought maybe… at least that my dad might have mellowed enough that…”

Dorian hummed softly and brought a hand up to rub at the base of Cillian’s neck, fingers digging into his tense muscles, the other running softly through his hair. Cillian hissed as he hit a particularly stubborn knot and he whispered a quick apology, gentling his touch as the blond relaxed against his chest. 

“Got a text back. She ‘didn’t think it was a good idea and I should know perfectly well why but she’d remind me anyway. My _life choices_ ,’” Cillian spat and Dorian flinched but continued the slow, steady rhythm of running his fingers through the man’s hair. 

“Oh and the icing on the fucking cake? She was ‘surprised and disappointed that I would even ask because Christmas is a day for _families,_ she thought I’d know better than to think about intruding’.” Cillian’s voice broke and he turned back to the window, staring out unblinking at the stars. 

Dorian gasped involuntarily. _You’re not family. You are no son of mine._ Somehow the sentiment hurt so much more leveled at Cillian than at himself. Him, he could understand. He could be sharp, difficult, unyielding and hard to love but where he was all edges Cillian was softer, gentle, full of light and love and laughter. _How dare she_ , he seethed. _How dare they?_

“I should have known better. I shouldn’t have tried. I don’t get to like Christmas anymore. I thought maybe with you… maybe because I love you they would love you and maybe everything would be fixed. Maybe we’d all grown up enough that who I _fuck_ doesn’t matter anymore. I was so fucking naive. I ruined Christmas because Christmas is for families and I don’t have one anymore and it’s all my fault because I couldn’t just be… normal. They’ve been gone for years and I didn’t even know, I just kept hoping.”

“You know, pet,” Dorian chanced, not sure if the suggestion would make things better or worse. “Perhaps there’s an upside to this. Without them to hold you back you’re free to choose your own family, one that loves you no matter what and wants you to be happy, one that doesn’t judge.”

Cillian snorted and a laugh tore from his throat, so full of self-loathing and anger Dorian wanted to pull away. “Who would want me? And who would do _that_? A little idealistic, don’t you think?”

Dorian kept his voice calm, his tone light. “Well, _I_ would, for one. I have to admit that I’ve grown rather fond of you and us incredibly handsome, family-less outcasts do need to stick together.”

It seemed to work, coaxing a small laugh from Cillian as the tense muscles in his back relaxed. It wasn’t much but it was _something_. Progress. Dorian kissed his nape, a hand caressing the sharp lines of the man’s jaw. 

“So yes, there’s me. And I rather recall that we have quite a few friends who care for you. Do you really think so little of them to believe they’d reject you? Atti. Cullen. Sera. Bull and Krem. Is that who they are? People who would leave because of something you can’t change? What about Cassandra or Varric? Cole or Josephine? Thom? Leliana? I think I’ll text Vivienne tomorrow to tell her of your lack of faith in her.”

He was pushing things now, possibly too quickly but his anger at Cillian’s parents was burning in his gut, making his words come too quickly, too harshly. 

“Sometimes, kitten, blood _isn’t_ thicker than water. And sometimes you meet the people you should have been connected to all along, the people who were meant to be your family. Your _found family_ , I suppose. And that family can help you remember what it’s like to be happy and excited, for Christmas or anything else. And we can create our own traditions, our own memories to replace the ones that hurt.”

Cillian took a deep, shaky breath in and let it out again slowly before turning to face him, eyes fond and full of newfound warmth. “You’re right, ducky. You’re always right.”

“Of course I am,” Dorian whispered as he cupped his face in his hands and planted a quick kiss across his lips but Cillian didn’t let go, pulling him closer into a longer, deeper kiss that left them both breathless as they pulled apart. 

“We’ll go get the tree tomorrow,” Cillian murmured softly. “And we can bake cookies.”

“That’s the spirit, pet,” Dorian smiled fondly. “And I’ll text everyone, they can come over, help decorate and eat the mountains of cookies you’re sure to bake. It’ll be a party.”

Cillian kissed him again, nuzzling against Dorian's cheek. "You're too good to me, love. You know that?"

"Hardly," Dorian replied drily as he stood, tugging at Cillian's hands until he followed, leading them to bed. "Perhaps it's just that you're finally getting what you deserve, Amatus."


	5. Snowball fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cillian enjoys the thrill of victory and a snowball fight escalates rapidly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: xhermionedanger
> 
> I love new friends and prompts so come hang out in my dragon age trash heap!

It was just a walk downstairs to check the mail and nothing more, the plows having finally cleared a path through the courtyard, he told himself. Just a walk, a simple walk. One he took every day in the warmer months. Cillian had insisted on accompanying him, citing everything from patches of black ice to freak blizzards to yeti attacks ( _I really don’t believe you have yetis down south, kitten_ he’d whispered as he’d worked at Cillian’s neck with his mouth, relishing the feel of his Amatus shuddering with pleasure under his touch, _but never will I reject such a handsome protector_ ) to Dorian falling ill again as an excuse to walk with him, their fingers softly intertwined. 

It _had_ been just a walk and nothing but a walk, a few short, quiet moments with Cillian in the calm quiet of a winter afternoon. At least it had been quiet until Dorian squawked at the dull _thud_ of a snowball smacking into the back of his head. He whirled around, searching for his assailant, only to find Atti grinning wildly before he waved and ducked behind a tree. _Of course_ , Dorian thought grimly. Of course Atti was involved. And where Atti was Cullen probably was also so he definitely had backup and Dorian had every reason to be afraid. 

Another snowball, from the opposite direction, whizzed past his ear. _Definitely_ Cullen. He looked around frantically, not able to place either man, scanning for a place to hide. 

“Cilli, help!” He cried as he took refuge behind the nearest snowdrift. “Defend my honor!”

“Never fear, my love!” Cillian shouted as he packed a mound of snow into a perfect projectile between his mittens and lobbed it in the direction of Atti’s echoing laugh. “You shall be avenged!”

“My hero,” he murmured as Cillian threw another snowball, this time hitting Atti square in the face as he yelped and rushed to rub the snow from his eyes, momentarily blinded. Cillian bowed dramatically towards him, somehow managing to look both valiant and ridiculous. The effect was slightly lessened as Cillian took a snowball tossed by Cullen to the back and stumbled forward, his expression equal parts indignant and bewildered, dropping down to a knee. 

“Just passing through, looked like you could use some help,” Bull said as he crouched behind Dorian’s snowdrift, his horns still clearly visible over the top of the wall. “What’d I miss?”

“We’re under attack!” Dorian hissed, wincing as another snowball came flying over his makeshift shelter and fell to earth, the missile exploding in a cloud of white powder that flew into his face. 

Bull laughed as Dorian scrubbed at his eyes, peeking over the snow to scout their surroundings. “So, Cullen and Atti decided to mount a sneak attack? With a little backup we can destroy them, it’ll be _mayhem_.” 

Bull packed a snowball in each hand and stood, hurling each in Cullen and Atti’s last known position as he bellowed “KREM! ROCKY! DALISH! THE REST OF YOU ASSHOLES DON’T MAKE ME NAME YOU, YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! We’re under attack!” 

Six bright, eager faces appeared in the windows and nodded, just a few seconds later they were all at the door, stumbling as they raced across the threshold and ducked behind the bushes that lined the complex, packing snowballs quickly and piling them into an arsenal. 

Before they could pop out of their barricade Atti shrieked. “We’re overwhelmed! We need the cavalry! Cullen, call them in!”

“Atti, they’re… right here? That’s why we brought them with us?” Cullen yelled, sounding bemused as he ventured out from the safety of his tree. 

“I don’t need to call them, that was the whole p…” he cut off in a groan as one of Krem’s snowballs hit him square between the eyes. “Nice one, Krem…” Cullen whispered as he clutched at the tree until he regained his balance, ducking back behind it for cover. 

Cassandra appeared out of nowhere and whipped a snowball right at Dalish, catching her in the neck before she could step sideways and dodge. The elf crumpled to the ground and Stitches raced across the courtyard to help, howling with rage. He was quickly struck in the side by one of Atti’s icy projectiles and stumbled but managed to dive into the bushes where Krem and Dalish were sequestered. 

Bull yelled gleefully, bloodlust filling his voice as he gathered up a pile of snowballs and jumped with surprising elegance over their makeshift snowdrift fort. Snowballs flew in every direction, shrieks of laughter and taunts filled the air and it was only by sheer luck that Dorian heard Leliana’s light chuckle behind him and lobbed a handful of snow, not even a proper snowball, right in her face before she could mount an attack. Varric was handily felled by Bull and after a joint offense by Cillian, Bull, Krem and Grim finally took out Cassandra, their opponents were all panting on the ground, begging for mercy. 

It was then, just at the moment of victory, that Sera zoomed into the courtyard on her skateboard-turned-makeshift-snowboard, arms packed with more snowballs. “What’d I miss?”

“Everything. You missed _everything_ , where were you?” Dorian hissed, brushing snow off his sleeves and chest as he stood and glared at the elf. 

“Had a date with Buckles, yeah? Just barely heard you lot screaming over _her_ screaming. Had to come. To help, right? Tally _already_ came but she’ll be coming in a minute, yeah? Good, right?” Sera giggled, winking lewdly in Dorian’s direction. 

“Ugh, spare me Sera, _please,_ ” Dorian whined, burying his face in the snowdrift as Sera sniggered. 

“Dunno,” Sera said, gesturing a few feet behind him. “Think you might be the one who needs spared, yeah? No, wait. Done. Done thinking about it.”  She hurled one of her snowballs at Cullen despite his prostrate position clearly signifying _peace,_ cackling as her shot rang true and white powder exploded into his unruly curls. 

Dorian felt a warm hand on his shoulder, another hand tangling through his pulling him upright. 

_Cillian_. 

“We were victorious, it seems,” he smirked as Cillian leaned down for a kiss, stifling a gasp as a hand grabbed at his ass, coming to rest at the swell just below his back. 

“Mmmm…” Cillian hummed as he worked at Dorian’s neck, teeth lightly grazing against his skin. “Victorious. In war and in love.”

Dorian slid his hands up Cillian’s back to pull him closer before kissing him deeper, tongues tangling and lips crashing against each other as he arched his back. They broke apart, both panting and Cillian grabbed at his hips, grinning as he gazed at Dorian through half-lidded eyes clouded with unbridled lust. 

“Problem, Amatus?” Dorian asked, a hint of whine evident as he leaned in for another kiss, wanting more. 

“Oh, no problem for _me_ , kitten,” Cillian murmured. He nipped at the delicate skin behind Dorian’s ear and he yelped. “But I think a few other people might have something to say about it.”

Just as Cillian trailed off Atti’s voice rung out from across the courtyard. “Oh my _god_ you two, can you not? Ugh, no one wants to see that! Go get a room!”

“You’re just jealous that _we_ have something to celebrate while you two are going to have to go home and suffer the ignominy of defeat,” Cillian smirked and called back, breaking into laughter as Atti scowled and flipped him off. “Have fun remembering the day we handed you your asses.”

“Don’t tell Atti but he may have a point, ducky,” Cillian purred, breath hot against Dorian’s neck. “We… might want to take this inside.”

As they walked quickly through the door back into the building, Cillian’s hand around his waist to guide him Dorian chanced a look back to see Cullen leading Atti away similarly, the man glowering at them over his shoulder. Cullen mouthed a silent ‘ _sorry’_ at Dorian as they walked away. 

“You two just wait! This isn’t over, this isn’t anywhere _near_ over. You may have won today’s battle but the war? The war will be ours! You hear me? Nowhere is safe from me, I know where you sleep!” 

***

Cillian’s lips were on his as soon as they stumbled into the apartment, hands running down his back to grab at Dorian’s ass. Dorian gasped, hips twitching as Cillian slipped a knee between his legs, teasing up against his growing hardness. He moaned, writhing against the blond’s leg, grinding into it. 

“Wait… we should…” Dorian gasped as Cillian tugged at his earlobe with his teeth, hands twisting through his hair. “We should… we… bedroom. Right?”

Cillian scowled, then his gaze lightened. “Alright, kitten. But hurry up. I’ll be right behind you.”

In their room Dorian strips off his coat, his sweater and the warm, plaid shirt stolen from Cillian’s side of the closet, leaving them piled in a heap on the floor. He’s working, fingers trembling, at the button of his jeans when Cillian came in, already stripped out of his clothes, and pushed him up against the wall. 

Nimble fingers worked at his waistband, slipping below the skin-warmed fabric to grasp his cock already hard and _wanting_ , a hand taking one slow stroke up his length and back down again. Cillian dropped to a knee, taking him slowly into his mouth. Dorian groaned, his thighs quivering, struggling to stay upright as Cillian swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, his hands grabbing at Dorian’s hips as they twitch and buck under his ministrations. 

Those same hands take a last long, slow stroke up his shaft, waves of pleasure making his knee buckle, before they throw him backwards and onto the bed. 

“Cilli…” he choked out, the words twisting with a groan as the man followed him onto the bed, straddling him as he tweaked at Dorian’s nipples, smirking at the strangled cry of pleasure it elicited. 

“Cilli _please_ ,” He managed before he lost his breath to Cillian’s tongue between his lips, teasing inside as he claimed his mouth. “Don’t tease.”

Cillian slid his leg between Dorian’s thighs and Dorian lifted his hips to meet his lover’s body, rocking against his thigh, desperate for friction, Cillian matching his urgent, insistent thrusting. He whimpered as Cillian cupped his cheeks, kissing along his jaw and teasing at his skin with his teeth. Dorian shuddered, hips rolling as desire built in his gut, coiling and burning. He reached his peak quickly, a shuddering moan slipping from his lips as Cillian kissed him, urgently and incessant, his fingers twisting the bedsheets. Cillian thrust against him, whimpering as Dorian reached around to rake his nail’s up the blond’s back, imagining with a flush the dark red marks he’d left contrasting sharply against milky skin. Cillian reached his apex with a strangled whimper, hips twitching and bucking involuntarily as Dorian kissed him, matching his pace. He curled into Dorian’s chest, head tucked beneath his arm as his breathing slowed. 

Dorian stretched with a happy sigh, trailing his finger’s through the blond’s messy curls. “Not that I’m complaining but what brought that on, pet?”

Cillian laughed softly as he leaned into the touch then sat up, capturing Dorian’s mouth in a soft, gentle kiss. “Maybe I just like the thrill of victory, love.”

 


	6. Hot tea and cozy sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Cillian spend a cozy evening inside as a storm hits New Haven. They have vastly different ideas of what makes a Christmas movie but they'll always agree on tea, gingersnaps and oversized sweaters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: xhermionedanger
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting everyone, it really means a lot to me!

Cillian stared out the kitchen window, watching the snow fall. It had been falling lightly all day, dusting the ground and covering the trees. Now it was coming down harder, the wind having picked up steadily all afternoon, gusts slowly forming towering drifts against the sidewalk. He was glad that Dorian should be home soon, not wanting to think of his boyfriend out in the growing storm especially with it so close to dark. It was the perfect evening to stay in with a roaring fire and a good book, he thought as he peered into the bowl of the mixer. Too bad he had already promised Dorian that they’d go out that night, the man swearing he was so sick of leftovers he could _die_. Maybe they could cut the night a bit short and at least there would be gingersnaps waiting for them even if they had to brave the snow. 

Carrick barked and jumped up from his spot in the corner of the kitchen right next to the heat vent, nails clicking excitedly across the floorboards as he sped into the living room. 

“That you, Dori?” He called as the front door swung open with a metallic whine.  

“I got you something, kitten!” Dorian answered as he slammed the front door behind him. 

“What’s that, babe?” Cillian asked absentmindedly, turning back to the half-filled cookie sheet as he heard the familiar _thud_ of Dorian kicking off his boots and arranging them neatly up against the wall. He’d just finished rolling out a few more cookies when strong arms wrapped around him and he stifled a yelp as Dorian pressed his face (and very cold nose) into the nape of his neck. 

Dorian pulled something hastily wrapped in tissue paper out of the bag he was carrying and pressed it into Cillian’s hands. 

He ripped off the tissue paper, leaving it on the floor for the kittens (Lachlan promptly jumped into it and curled up for a nap) and unfurled it to find a cozy-looking sweater. It was dark blue, tinged with grey, the color of the late-afternoon winter sky before a storm. It was knitted of a soft, chunky wool and thick cables ran up the chest and the arms. It also appeared to be at least three sizes too large. 

He raised an eyebrow as he held the sweater out in front of him. “Dori, just how tall do you think I actually am? Or is this your way of hinting I’ve had a few too many cookies lately?”

He chuckled as Dorian sputtered, cheeks bright red. “I’m just _teasing_ you, love. But what brought this on? Spoiling me before Christmas?”

“I just thought… maybe,” Dorian started, looking embarrassed. “Well, I take your sweaters all the time anyway so I thought I should get you a new one. And then there was that one I accidentally put in the dryer last month…” 

“I got myself one too,” Dorian said excitedly, holding up a sweater identical except in a deep, rich plum. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, I guess. And I thought maybe we could… ugh, this is stupid.”

“What, ducky?” Cillian asked, snaking an arm around Dorian’s waist and pulling him into his chest. He dropped a kiss on Dorian’s forehead, smiling as the man tucked his face into his shoulder. “You can tell me, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking… maybe tonight we could… Well, it’s been a long week and maybe tonight we could just stay in? I know we were going to go out to try that new Orlesian place but I thought maybe with this bloody awful storm we could just stay in and relax? And we could wear our sweaters and curl up on the couch together and watch Christmas movies?” Dorian shrugged as trailed off, face knotting in frustration. “You probably think this is a stupid idea, never mind.”

“Love, _stop_. I don’t think it’s stupid at all.” He tilted Dorian’s face up, leaning down slightly until their lips met. The kiss was soft at first, gentle, just a light brushing of lips, Dorian’s hand fisting through his hair and soft, breathy moans then it grew in intensity until he pulled away, breathless and flushed. He smiled down at Dorian. “I think it sounds perfect. We could get delivery. ”

“Really?” Dorian’s eyes lit up as he answered, just a touch too quickly for subtlety. 

Cillian’s heart clenched in his chest. It was still difficult to think of what Dorian's previous relationships - the man didn't talk about them much - if agreeing to watch a movie and answering honestly made him this excited and warm. 

“Really,” he murmured as he gave the man a quick kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t you go pick a movie and get ready and I’ll be with you in a minute? I just need to get these in the oven.”

Dorian nodded happily, turning to leave before ducking in to sneak a bit of batter from the bowl, just barely managing to avoid Cillian’s hand smacking his. 

“Mmmm, gingersnaps. My favorite.” Dorian smiled as he popped the batter into his mouth and left the room. 

 

***

 

Cillian wandered into the living room, clad in the new sweater with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows, a mug in each hand. He offered the one printed with the _Marauder’s Map_ to Dorian who accepted it happily, looking pointedly at at Cillian as he sat next to him. 

“It’s not _that_ big on you, don’t be dramatic. That’s _my_ forte,” Dorian sniffed at the mug as he laid his head on Cillian’s shoulder. “Is this chai?”

“It really, _really_ is, ducky. I’m drowning in it. But I love it. I promise,” Cillian trailed a hand lightly through Dorian’s hair, breathing in the spicy scent of the tea mingling with the herbal lavender of Dorian’s hair waxes. “What movie did you decide on?”

“ _The Nightmare Before Christmas!”_ Dorian said as he flipped quickly through their movie queue and pressed play. 

Cillian laughed, looking quizzically at him. “I thought you said you wanted a Christmas movie?

“This _is_ a Christmas movie!”

“Mmm, more of a Halloween movie love, but whatever makes you happy,” Cillian shrugged as he laid back against the arm of the couch, tugging at Dorian’s hips until Dorian was tucked into his chest, Cillian’s arm looped around his waist. 

Dorian gasped, whipping his head around to look at Cillian in utter disbelief. “Jack Skellington and all of Halloween Town learn the true meaning of Christmas! There’s Santa! And snow! How is it _not_ a Christmas movie?”

Cillian laughed as Dorian’s expression settled into a pout. Dorian tried to deepen the scowl as Cillian planted a quick kiss across his lips. 

"Besides, it was either this or  _It's A Wonderful Life_ , and I thought if I chose that you might roll your eyes right out of your head."

_Well, you're not wrong there_ Cillian thought ruefully. 

“What would you have chosen anyway?”

Cillian thought for a moment as the previews ended and faded into the familiar strains of _This Is Halloween_. “Probably _Die Hard_.” 

“ _Die Hard_? Are you joking? And you said _this_ isn’t a Christmas movie!” Dorian sputtered, hands waving. 

“Hey, it happens on Christmas Eve. That’s as good a reason as any,” Cillian replied, nuzzling the back of Dorian’s neck as he pulled the blanket folded over the back of the couch over them. 

Dorian hummed sleepily, settling closer into Cillian’s chest. “I suppose, pet. Wake me when the cookies are done? Don’t you _dare_ eat them all yourself.”

Cillian chuckled softly, hand trailing softly up Dorian’s side as the man yawned. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

 


	7. Giving subtle hints of what one would like to get for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's been making what he wants for Christmas perfectly clear, or so Cillian thought. And he doesn't know if he's ready to give it. They manage to find a compromise and newfound understanding.
> 
> A little bit of angst leads to fluff. But the angst is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thank you so much for reading, liking and commenting. It means the universe that anyone at all likes my OC. 
> 
> tumblr: xhermionedanger

Cillian sighed and gently shut Dorian’s laptop, placing it back on the coffee table. He laid down on the couch, legs hanging over the arm, fingers digging into his eyes in an attempt to alleviate the pounding ache that was settling there. It was the fifth time in as many days that he’d wandered into the living room in the morning after Dorian had left for work to find it very deliberately left on the couch, screen full of page after page of jewelry. Specifically, rings. More specifically, _engagement rings_. He was surprised to find that Dorian’s tastes ran significantly less extravagant than he’d imagined, the man clearly favoring hammered gold but otherwise lacking any significant embellishment save the occasional black diamond scattered seamlessly in the metal. He could easily imagine Dorian in any of them, could see himself giving one to Dorian. _One day_. 

Since this had started he’d spent the evenings after Dorian arrived home pointedly avoiding the subject although he had asked Dorian what he wanted for a Christmas present each night, getting nothing but a sigh and _oh nothing, Amatus, I don’t need anything_ in reply. Clearly they were going to have to discuss the elephant - or rather, ring - in the room and quickly otherwise he’d run out of time to coax any suggestions out of Dorian in time for Christmas. Suggestions that did _not_ involve getting engaged. 

It wasn’t that he was opposed to the idea, not exactly. He _could_ so easily see himself marrying Dorian.  He could picture their lives together - the places they’d travel and explore - growing old together and eventually moving to the country. Dorian would publish his research, teach and take a few posts as a visiting professor. He’d finally settle down to working on his novels and opening his sanctuary for abandoned, elderly pets. It made him smile, made his heart clench just to think of it. When he thought of it, of marrying Dorian, he was happy. And that was exactly the problem; it was too easy to imagine, too tender an ache of _want_ in his chest. It was too big of a risk, too much too soon. And some days he still wasn’t sure this was really happening, that he woke up to Dorian every morning, that this was something he was allowed to have and deserved. It had only been a year and a half ago that they’d started talking while Dorian had worked on completing his PhD in Minrathous and only eight months since Dorian moved south and into his apartment. Everything had gone well so far, much smoother than Cillian had imagined; they’d found the transition from long-distance relationship to sharing space easy but every day still brought up new quirks and preferences that they had to adjust to. 

If he had to make a choice between rushing into the forever he wanted with Dorian or losing him forever - if this was something that Dorian wasn’t willing to continue without - would he do it? 

And therein lay the problem, Cillian thought with a sigh as he called Carrick over to him and clipped on his lead to take him out for a runaround and a bit of fresh air, their apartment suddenly turned from pleasantly warm to stifling. _Would he?_

_***_

The snow that had fallen so rapidly the night before had stopped though the sky still threatened a storm, heavy grey clouds billowing across pale blue and the wind starting to whip through his hair. The plows had been through and he let Carrick loose to run as they reached a clearing, smiling as he bounded right into a snowdrift and resurfaced in a cloud of displaced snow, a lolling tongue and fur and tail happily being shook to free it of the cold and wet. There was something freeing - comforting - about watching him as he played, over and tumble in that carefree way that dogs remember and people don’t (or _can’t,_ he thought ruefully because life demands they forget and it hurts too much to remember). Dogs were, he realized, a universe of limitless joy, a lesson in love without hesitation, of connection without caution. They trusted, allowed themselves to be vulnerable in pursuit of love; every day was a new beginning, unspoiled by time or experience. 

There was a lesson to be learned there he knew, but that didn’t make it any easier. It didn’t smooth away the rough edges of the idea of _forever_ that dug sharply into his skin, it didn’t slow the slow, unceasing churning in the pit of his stomach, the anxious, breathless feeling that somehow the ground beneath his feet had turned into the deck of a ship being tossed about in a storm. 

He called Carrick back with a sharp whistle, kneeling to clip his lead back on and the dog leaned heavily against his chest,  tongue lolling as Cillian rubbed his ears. He stood and led Carrick inside, heavy with knowledge that he _had_ to talk to Dorian tonight, couldn’t allow this to continue until it became an insurmountable obstacle between them. 

***

That same resolve nearly faltered as Dorian walked through the door, smiling and already talking about his day. Cillian watched him from the couch, not wanting to do anything to tear that smile from his face but knowing it was inevitable. 

“Ducky,” he interrupted. “Can we talk? There’s something I need to ask you.”

“Of course,” Dorian said with a frown, sitting on the edge of the couch next to him. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m… not sure,” he replied, a hand digging into the sore muscles at the base of his neck. 

“Well, you seem especially serious tonight, Amatus,” Dorian said as trailed a still-cold hand down Cillian’s jaw and around into his overgrown curls. “You can ask me _anything_.”

“Dori, the rings…” He started, reaching out to squeeze Dorian’s shoulder but pulled away as he stiffened visibly, back ramrod straight. “Is that what you want? For Christmas? To get engaged?”

“Do you not?” Dorian asked softly, staring into the fireplace, the crackling and dancing of the flames reflected in his dark eyes. 

“I…” Cillian started then blew out a sigh. “I don’t know. I do… I mean, I do want to get married. To you… I just… it feels too soon right now. We haven’t even lived together a year. It’s just… _so_ big and… too much to think about. But if it’s important to you…”

The harsh set of Dorian’s jaw softened as he stared down at his hands twisting in his lap. “It _is_ important to me but perhaps… not the way you’re imagining, kitten. I do want to marry you and I would like to be engaged one day but right now, I could do with just a promise? A promise that we both want this and are committed, that you’re willing to claim me publicly? I want something I can look at fondly, that means _something_ that other people will understand. Something to serve as a reminder…”

“A reminder? That one day we’ll get married, become old men together and I’ll pretend I don’t know that you cover your grey hairs and dye your mustache?” Cillian joked, so relieved he thought he might cry. He doesn’t but for a moment it’s hardly a sure thing. 

Dorian laughed and smacked his shoulder. “Something like that, yes. But I don’t need a proposal under the Christmas tree, I promise.” 

“Thank you, ducky,” Cillian whispered as he peppered a quick kiss across Dorian’s lips. That one kiss became more as Dorian returned it, capturing his lips with his own, hands fisting through Cillian’s hair. 

Later that night once Dorian had already retreated to their bedroom, spent from what one simple kiss had turned into, Cillian opened his laptop and emailed the most recent page of rings to himself. He’d bookmark them for _eventually_. For now, he had his own idea for his promise. 

 


	8. Picking out the right Christmas tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In between storms Dorian and Cillian venture out in search of essentials. The perfect Christmas tree is absolutely an essential. Dorian might just find Cillian cutting down their tree a bit more attractive than he'd expected and once they're home things escalate quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading and liking, I really appreciate it! If you want to know more about Cillian or get to know me you can find me on tumblr, I'm xhermionedanger.

Dorian woke up early, just after sunrise if the tinges of pink and orange streaking across the sky, mottled by heavy, grey cloud banks, and long shadows were anything to go by. He fumbled for his phone to check the time: _7:10_. He rolled over with a sigh, expecting to find Cillian still asleep, curled up with his pillows as he always slept, but his side of the bed was empty and cold. Disappointed not to have his space heater of a boyfriend to cuddle up with as he fell back asleep, Dorian groaned quietly and resigned himself to getting up despite the uncivilized hour. He slipped out of bed, stretching as he stood, padded over to the window seat and sat down on the side nearest the heat vent, staring out the window. 

It had stopped snowing though the wind was picking up old flakes from the drifts piled high, blowing them across the ground in light flurries. The trees in the courtyard were blanketed in a thick layer of white and the sun’s light, not yet quite fully risen, dazzled pleasantly off the snow. Too soon it would turn to a harsh glare but for now it was beautiful, quiet and calm and he took a moment to gaze across the courtyard to the park across the street and appreciate it. 

In these peaceful moments, somewhere in the hazy still between sleep and awake, he felt finally - _truly_ \- at home in New Haven. In these moments the last pangs of doubt, the wondering if - happy as he was - he’d made the right decision to leave Tevinter dissipated like puffs of crystallized breath in the frigid morning air. His quiet reverie was interrupted by the door opening softly and behind it Cillian stood in the threshold shirtless, just out of the shower. 

“Morning, babe,” Cillian smiled as his gaze lit on Dorian and _Maker_ how he loved that smile, warm color teasing at his cheeks. He ran his fingers through his damp, tangled curls as he wandered over to the window seat and leaned over to place a light kiss on Dorian’s forehead. “You’re up early.”

“Yes, well.” Dorian leaned into the touch, smiling fondly up at his boyfriend as he lightly trailed his fingers down Cillian’s chest. “I have become accustomed to having a bed-warmer and oddly enough, mine disappeared this morning leaving me with no alternative but to seek heat elsewhere.”

“Sorry, love. And here I thought you’d be happy being spared my ridiculous bed hair,” Cillian laughed as he tugged softly at Dorian’s hands, pulling him to his feet. He looped an arm around Dorian’s waist, kissing him again. “I couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to wake you. If it helps I’m making muffins? Your favorites.”

Dorian perked up. “The cardamom ones? And coffee?”

Cillian nodded. “Just give it about twenty minutes.”

“I’ll go shower then,” Dorian replied as he stood and turned to leave the room. He paused, smirking back at Cillian. “Unless of course… I know you already have but I don’t suppose you’d care to join me?”

 

***

 

All of the hot water in the heater and an hour later found them in the kitchen, happy and spent, lingering over the ends of a second pot of coffee.  

“You know, we still need to put up a Christmas tree,” Cillian mused, gazing at their as-yet undecorated apartment. “That would make things feel more festive.”

Dorian hummed as he took a bite of his third muffin, chewing it thoughtfully. “That _would_ be nice, I suppose. Do you have one? I don’t remember seeing anything quite that large in the storage space. Or do you keep it somewhere in here?”

Cillian laughed and choked on his coffee. “In storage? You mean… _God_ , no babe. You can’t have a fake Christmas tree! It’s… sacrilegious! It’s practically illegal. We _have_ to have a real tree.”

“And here I thought the whole reason humanity evolved to the level where we decided taking shelter under walls and a roof was a good idea was that we were tired of living in the so-called great outdoors. And here you want to invite it right back in,” Dorian replied drily. “You know the cats will get into it.”

“That’s half the fun!”

“It’ll drop needles everywhere. And what if there are spiders in the branches?”

“I’ll clean them up, ducky,” Cillian replied patiently. “And if there are spiders I’ll protect you.”

“Shut up,” Dorian grumbled, cheeks flushing. “I am _not_ afraid of spiders.”

“Didn’t say you were,” Cillian breezed although Dorian thought he saw the hint of a smile flicker across his face before he smoothed it out. “Besides, it finally stopped snowing for a bit. We can actually go out, get a few things before the next storm hits. And while we’re out we can go get a tree!”

He looked so excited, near quivering in his seat that Dorian realized in that moment he couldn’t have denied Cillian anything. He sighed heavily, pretending to feel put-upon to hide the sudden lightness filling him. “Alright, Amatus. You win.”

 

***

 

They went to the library first then to the grocery store to stock up on essentials and the ingredients to make enough cookies to feed an army. When Dorian questioned why, exactly, they needed quite that much flour, sugar and various types of chocolate Cillian just shrugged and said, by way of explanation, “Atti.” 

As they left the store Dorian lingered by the cut trees stacked against the wall. “Kitten, didn’t you want to get a tree?”

Cillian looked back, confused. “Here? Oh no, not here. Not these trees. There’s only one place to get a tree, I’ll show you. It’s not too far.”

“But… everything we just bought?” Dorian gestured towards their carts. “Shouldn’t we get all of this home?”

“I promise, babe. It’ll be fine. It won’t melt.”

 

***

 

Half an hour later they pulled into a snow-covered-field-turned-makeshift-parking lot next to what appeared to be a forest and Cillian turned off the car. 

“Kitten, this is hardly the right weather for a pleasant walk through the woods.” Dorian said, looking around. There seemed to be nothing for miles, nothing except the beautiful but tree-infested landscape. 

Cillian smiled as he pulled on his mittens. “It’s perfect, babe. Your boots are in the trunk. You’re going to want your gloves too, and maybe the extra sweater in the back.”

After Dorian was closer to properly attired they waded through the parking lot that was more snowdrift than solid ground until they reached a small cabin, tucked a few hundred feet back in the woods. Cillian handed money over to the man tucked behind the desk and was given a handsaw in return. 

“Really?” Dorian asked as they walked back into the frigid cold. “Really?”

“A tree farm’s the only way to get a perfect tree,” Cillian replied, his fingers reaching for Dorian’s. 

“You know you’re going to owe me _so_ much hot chocolate if I’ve not frozen to death by the time we’re done trudging through this forest, yes?”

“It’s not a forest but yes, I owe you. Hot chocolate with Irish cream, love. I know you.” 

 

***

 

Dorian felt like they’d walked for hours, staring at identical tree after identical tree but always finding a reason to reject each one, when Cillian finally stopped, deep within the heart of the tree farm. 

“This is it. This is our tree,” he whispered reverently, staring up at the top of a tree Dorian couldn’t have distinguished from the rest if his life had depended on it. “Dori? What do you think?”

“Looks like a tree and that’s what we came for,” Dorian replied, edging back in the direction he thought they’d left the car. “Let’s get someone to cut it down for us and go before my fingers fall off.”

“It’s perfect,” Cillian declared as he bent down, brandishing the handsaw Dorian had thought was just for show and started cutting through the base. 

It might have been a few short minutes, it might have been longer. Dorian couldn’t say, far too wrapped up in staring as Cillian worked, admiring the ripple of his muscles under his sweater, coat having been shed long ago. It wasn’t often that he got to see his boyfriend like this, strong and powerful and he only stopped staring when the tree fell to the ground with a thundering _crack_ and a cloud of snow billowing around it. Cillian stood up, admiring his handiwork as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. 

Cillian grinned and picked it up, hoisting it over his shoulder. “So, what do you think babe? Best way to get a tree, right?”

“I’m… thinking I might just want to see you in plaid.”  

“You see me in plaid all the time and you hate it. You keep trying to give away my flannel shirts when you think I’m not paying attention.”

“Well, yes. Fine. That’s true. But now I _want_ to see you in plaid, Amatus. My proper Fereldan lumberjack, you are,” he shot back as Cillian blushed from his neck to the tips of his hair. 

 

***

 

Dorian unlocked the door to their apartment, standing aside as Cillian hauled the tree in and leaned it up against the wall. 

“I’ll just go get the rest of the bags,” he started as Dorian grabbed his hips and pushed him back against the wall. His lips were on Cillian’s, the kiss slow and gentle at first then harder, a tangling of tongues and bitten, kiss-swollen lips until he pulled away to nuzzle at the nape of Cillian’s neck. Dorian breathed in the scent of him, the heady blend of incense and orange blossom from his cologne, twisted with musk and now a hint of pine sap. 

“They can wait,” Dorian breathed hoarsely, eyes half lidded with desire. 

“Then I think you need to get out of all of those clothes,” Cillian smirked as he trailed his hands down Dorian’s back, grabbing as his ass. 

Dorian nodded breathlessly as he pulled away, stripping off layer after layer as he walked towards the bedroom. He left his coat on the living room floor, peeled off his sweater and two shirts and deposited them on the couch and by the time he reached the bedroom door he was stepping out of his jeans. He looked back to find Cillian staring, eyes wide. 

“Well hurry up, Amatus. Aren’t you coming?”

 

***

 

Cillian walked into the bedroom a few minutes later, stripping off his sweater and jeans as he entered. Dorian was lying on the bed, head propped up against the wall, whimpering softly as he stroked himself, already half hard. 

“Amatus, _please,_ ” he whined as Cillian lingered by the closet. 

“Just a second…” Cillian replied as he fingered the hangers, finally selecting the red and black plaid shirt Dorian had been trying to get rid of for months now and shrugged it over his shoulders. He sat on the bed next to Dorian, trailing his fingers up the man’s chest to tweak at a dusky nipple. He chuckled softly as Dorian moaned, arching his back. Cillian straddled him, nuzzling at his neck. Dorian gasped as teeth grazed at his skin, muffling his moan against Cillian’s chest as the man nipped and sucked at his throat. 

“Cilli…” he whimpered as Cillian grabbed at his ass, scattering a constellation of kisses across his chest. He bit his lip until he tasted blood, hips bucking unconsciously against Cillian, searching for friction. “ _Please_.”

Cillian laughed softly, teasing him with the soft press of a finger against his entrance. He spread his cheeks apart, tongue tracing slow circles around his hole. Dorian whined, fingers fisting through the sheets that lay tangled around him. 

He gasped as a finger slid inside of him and Cillian took him into his mouth, his other hand clutching his shoulder. He moaned as he hit the back of Cillian’s throat, the man bobbing slowly up and down his length. 

“Cilli… I need…” he whimpered, hands tangled through Cillian’s hair. “Please… fuck me. _Please_.”

Cillian laugh and the soft vibration of his words as his lips tightened around Dorian’s cock nearly drove him mad. He whined, his cock twitching involuntarily as the blond worked his magic. Cillian took him deeper, tongue swirling around the underside of his shaft, spreading him more as a second finger teased at his entrance. Dorian groaned, a deep, guttural sound that tore at his throat as Cillian crooked his fingers inside him, a third starting to trace the outside of his hole. “ _Please_.”

“You’re sure you’re ready?” Cillian asked, eyes dark with concern. 

Dorian nodded, hips rolling in his attempt to press Cillian’s fingers deeper inside him. 

Cillian bit at his neck, smirking at the yelp Dorian let out as teeth stung soft skin. One hand reached out for the bottle of lube and a condom, covering himself liberally as the other kept opening Dorian,  fingers slowly thrusting in and out of him until he was gasping raggedly for breath, hips rocking. Cillian tugged at his hips, moving him until his legs were up on Cillian’s shoulders, hips tilted upwards. 

Cillian leaned down as he lined himself up against Dorian’s ass, pausing to remove his fingers and kiss at one hipbone and then the other. He eased in, pausing as Dorian yelped. 

“Is this alright, love?” He paused, his hips flush against Dorian’s ass. 

“I swear, Amatus,” Dorian gritted out between clenched teeth, trying to roll his hips under the man’s grasp. “If you stop right now I swear I will set you on fire. Harder. _Please_.” 

Cillian laughed as he thrust into him, smile deepening as Dorian whined and moaned and begged beneath him. He took Dorian’s cock in his hand, tugging sharply at it in time with his thrusts. His other hand cupped Dorian’s balls, his gaze never leaving Dorian’s face. 

“You like it when I’m like this, don’t you?” He purred as he leaned over, teeth grazing at Dorian’s collarbone. He paused, tongue swirling over the constellation of freckles on his shoulder. “Desperate. Aching. Needy. And all for me.” 

“Amatus, _please,_ ” Dorian warned, arching his back against Cillian’s ever-quickening thrusts, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. He dug his fingers into Cillian’s hips, pulling him closer. “I’m not going to last…”

Cillian thrust into him again, quickening his pace as Dorian’s breathed raggedly, his nails digging into Cillian’s back. He grunted as one tore his skin open, the pain only deepening his pleasure. 

“Cilli… I’m going…” Dorian managed through gritted teeth, panting for breath. “I can’t… I’m going to…”

He came with a strangled cry, one hand fisting through the bedsheets and the other through Cillian’s hair.  Cillian thrust again and again until he followed, releasing in quick bursts deep inside Dorian. His hips bucked after, once and then again as the last waves of pleasure faded and he pulled out, collapsing against Dorian’s chest. 

They stayed like this for a long while until their breathing evened and Cillian moved to curl up beside him, grabbing for a tissue to clean them both up. 

“So… was I right about the tree?” He asked, his voice just a breathy whisper against the back of Dorian’s neck 

“You were right, Amatus,” Dorian yawned as he snuggled closer into his boyfriend’s chest, letting out a breathy sigh of contentment as Cillian brushed the hair out of his eyes. “But can the decorating wait until later? I could use a nap.”

Cillian laughed as he nuzzled at the back of Dorian’s neck. “I think I could too.”

 


	9. Decoration wars (must include glitter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys decide that a little decorating is required to really get into the Christmas spirit. Cillian really likes glitter and Dorian discovers a special ornament to hang on the tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... isn't quite what I was expecting this chapter to turn into but well, here we are. 
> 
> tumblr: xhermionedanger

When Cillian woke up from their nap the sun was just starting to set. Dorian was awake and tucked into the side of his chest, their hands tangled lightly together.

“Couldn’t sleep, ducky?” He asked, sleep-thick voice more akin to a croak before he cleared it.

Dorian hummed as he sat up slightly, just enough to scoot closer to him and press a kiss across his jaw. “Well I _was_ having a lovely dream until I remembered that someone promised me hot chocolate for trudging through that tree-infested forest for hours.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Cillian chuckled, ruffling Dorian’s hair as he squawked indignantly. Cillian planted a soft kiss on Dorian’s forehead, smiling as Dorian leaned into the touch and tilted his head back to kiss him, lips brushing softly against his own.

“You did,” Dorian agreed, settling back to rest his head on Cillian’s shoulder, an arm thrown lightly across his chest. “I seem to remember we also have a tree to decorate.”

“Alright, alright,” Cillian groaned with a yawn. “Will you go get everything out of the car? I’ll get the rest of the decorations out of the storage closet.”

 

***

 

Cillian sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes as Dorian opened the door, evergreen garlands draped around his shoulders and his arms full of shopping bags.

Cillian gestured with his chin towards the coffee table where two mugs sat, his hands busy trying to untangle a strand of lights.

Dorian’s face lit up and he dropped the bags on the living room floor as gently as possible, grabbing the mug and taking a sip, smiling as the hot liquid hit the back of his throat. He sat back on the couch, grinning as he took another drink, letting the Irish cream warm him after being out in the chill of the parking garage.

“Good?” Cillian asked with a small smile, dropping the lights as he stood and curled up behind Dorian, looping an arm around his waist as he kissed his cheek.

“Very good,” Dorian murmured, giving him a soft smile. “Do I always have to go outside and freeze half to death to get this as my reward?”

“I can think of a couple of other things you could do that would get you a reward from me babe,” Cillian whispered, nuzzling at his ear. He yelped as Dorian smacked him.

“Animal,” Dorian huffed. “Just for that I think I should get your hot chocolate as well.”

 

***

 

“Do we own _any_ ornaments that aren’t covered in glitter?” Dorian complained, picking gingerly through the first box. “It’s getting everywhere.”

“It’s not _everywhere_ ,” Cillian replied as he carefully unwrapped a large star and laid it gently on the coffee table.

“Pet, when I die the undertaker will have to pick glitter out of my corpse. I have glitter in places I didn’t even know I had.”

“I _like_ glitter. It’s festive. Do you want to put the first ornament on?”

Dorian hummed softly in agreement, setting aside sparkly red and gold orbs as he looked through the boxes.

“What’s this?” He asked as he held up a large pine cone liberally coated in red and green glitter on a strand of gold thread.

“Oh god, babe… you don’t want that one.” Cillian tried to snatch it away from him as Dorian backed away, holding the ornament behind his back.

“After that reaction? I think I do, kitten,” Dorian teased, keeping the ornament out of reach as he pressed a kiss across Cillian’s lips, ignoring the harsh set of his jaw. Dorian peppered kisses against his lips, down his jawline and back up to nuzzle at his ear until Cillian relaxed under his touch. He ruffled his hand through Cillian’s disheveled curls, fingertips teasing through the overgrown ends.

“Let me guess,” he whispered, kissing softly at Cillian’s cheek. “You made this in kindergarten and took it with you when you left home? Is that the sort of sentimental sop I fell in love with?”

“Not quite,” Cillian laughed, a thread of bitterness in his voice. “Nessa made it. We all used to get to make an ornament to go on the tree every year. Our nanny thought it up, _something to remember them by_. Mother always hated it but…. Anyway. Nessa was five the year I left home and she gave it to me. Wanted me to have something from her, I guess, to take with me. I don’t think she really understood but… I kept it.”

“Then it’s the perfect ornament to go on the tree first, pet,” Dorian murmured as he kissed him again. Once for comfort, twice for absolution, again for luck then again for ‘ _I love you, Amatus_ ’. Dorian stood and wandered over towards the tree, studying it to find the perfect spot. Finally his eyes lit an outcropping halfway up, its branches teasing up towards the ceiling. He slipped the loop of gold thread over the branch spilling out farthest, adjusting it until it sat just right.

He looked back to find Cillian giving him a lopsided smile before the blond spoke. “Do you want to do the balcony, ducky? I’ve… never done that before. It’d be nice to have something for everyone to see.”

Dorian nodded, gathering up an armful of evergreen swags and garlands, lights and a box of ornaments before he swept out of the room and onto the balcony.

He strung each garland across the railing, tangling the ends carefully through each wrought-iron rung. Once the evergreen strands were hung he pulled out the lights, untangling them before he braided the long strands through the needles of the garlands, plugging them in at the end. He took a moment to admire his work, peeking at their neighbor’s dark balconies, before he turned to the box of ornaments and hung them on the greenery.

Now that he really studied them there wasn’t nearly enough glitter, not enough sparkle. He stole a glance through the window at the tree that Cillian was finishing working on. It shimmered under the lights from their apartment, catching hints of light from the strands he’d hung on the balcony. Cillian stood up on his toes to place the star - hollow and covered in red glitter - on the very top.

He shivered, feeling the harsh wind off the mountains and finished tying off the last satin bow before he ducked back inside. The tree was even more impressive inside although so covered in ornaments Dorian wouldn't have sworn in a court of law that there was a tree under all of it 

“What, done already?” Cillian teased, grabbing at his hip to pull him closer into his chest.

“Well… I can’t compete with your tree, clearly,” Dorian murmured as he leaned into Cillian’s shoulder. “I just thought perhaps I should declare defeat before it became humiliating.”

“I don’t know,” Cillian mumbled, lips teasing at Dorian’s neck. “I’m not sure I’m ready to declare victory yet…”

“And what…” Dorian whispered, desire coiling deep within his gut as he worked at Cillian’s jaw, smirking as the man hissed in pleasure. “What would victory look like, pet?”

“Well,” Cillian murmured, pressing against him as he took one step and then another back towards their bedroom. “I could think of a lot of things victory might look like… but maybe you could do that thing with your tongue again and we’ll figure it out, ducky.”

**Author's Note:**

> I saw [this challenge](http://justablobfish.tumblr.com/post/129588948187/christmas-writing-prompt) on tumblr and since I've been having _a lot_ of Cillian/Dorian feels lately and need to get into the Christmas spirit I just couldn't resist. There is never enough winter fluff out there, IMO. 
> 
> 1\. Winter expectations vs. winter reality.  
> 2\. We need to buy you winter clothing.  
> 3\. Treatment for the flu/ a cold  
> 4\. Getting the person who doesn’t like Christmas into the right festive mood  
> 5\. Snowball fight  
> 6\. Hot tea and cozy sweaters  
> 7\. Giving subtle hints of what one would like to get for Christmas  
> 8\. Picking out the right Christmas tree  
> 9\. Decoration wars (must include glitter)   
> 10\. An unusual snowman   
> 11\. Baking Christmas cookies  
> 12\. Reading someone Christmas stories  
> 13\. Finding a present for that person that is impossible to find a present for  
> 14\. The smell of Christmas  
> 15\. Holding out in a snowstorm together/Getting snowed in together  
> 16\. A Christmas letter.  
> 17\. Falling asleep by the fireplace  
> 18\. Dancing in the snow  
> 19\. The last day of work/class before the holidays  
> 20\. An odd Christmas tradition  
> 21\. Sleigh rides   
> 22\. Obnoxious singing of Christmas songs  
> 23\. The Traditional Christmas dinner   
> 24\. Watching the snow alone and watching the snow together 
> 
> Tags and rating will be updated as things progress.


End file.
